Win Some, Lose Some
by Caffey
Summary: Kathryn Janeway has a knack for attracting trouble. And when trouble doesn't find her, she goes looking for it.


**Disclaimer: **Paramount owns the whole lot, I'm just playing.

**Author's note:** For once, I'm not pinning this on Ym. It's all Shannen's fault this time.

**Rated:** PG

**Wine Some, Lose Some**  
By Caff

"What do you mean, you've lost the Captain?" Chakotay's voice lashed out. "You lose a tricorder, a combadge maybe, or in your case your mind, Paris, because that's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for you telling me this. But you don't_ ever_ lose your commanding officer."

Especially not in a place like this, he thought, and warily eyed the shadowy shapes moving in the barely lit alleys. They were already attracting too much attention and they were only on the outskirts of this hellhole. He shuddered to think how much attention their vibrant Captain must have drawn when she'd ventured into this part of town.

Tom's mouth was set in grim line, a stark contrast to his usual easy smile. "I don't know what happened," he replied, worry and desperation waging a war for supremacy in his voice. "One moment we were gathering information, the next she'd ditched me."

If there was any good reason not to kill Tom, Chakotay had a hard time remembering it. "You were supposed to keep an eye on her. How is it possible that she left without you noticing?"

"Believe me, that's what I'm still trying to figure out, Commander. I can't believe she did that to me, and so easily at that. I was paying attention the whole time, dammit. "

Intellectually, Chakotay knew that Tom was telling the truth. Kathryn Janeway had a knack for attracting trouble. And when trouble didn't find her, she went looking for it. He knew that, knew better than anyone that if she set her mind on something, there wasn't a force in the whole of the universe strong enough to steer her from her set course. Still, his mind was in an uproar, painting pictures of her lying in a back alley, bloodied. Or worse.

Anger and fear were rolling inside of him, all the parts of him that he hated, and he had to struggle hard to keep those darker emotions in check. "What's her last known position?" he grated.

"Right here. We weren't getting anywhere with our mission, and she suggested..." Tom's voice trailed off and his face became a picture of disbelief. His eyes locked onto a shabby looking tavern across the street. "Oh, no. She wouldn't have."

Chakotay was already moving at a fast clip in the direction of the tavern, his long strides eating up ground and leaving only dust in his wake. "She most definitely would have," he called over his shoulder, his voice flat. "Get a move on, Paris."

Tom didn't need to be told twice, easily matching Chakotay's pace.

Together they entered what must have been the nastiest place Chakotay had ever been to, and he'd seen a lot of seedy places during his times in the Maquis.

Tom exhaled in a whoosh of air. "Holy flaming bird of the galaxy."

It was a sentiment Chakotay would have echoed if he hadn't been at a complete loss for words. The place was packed with the worst assortment of alien species he had ever laid eyes on, most of whom were gathered around a table in the middle of the room, cheering drunkenly. When one of them toppled over in a drunken stupor, Chakotay caught a flash of auburn hair smack dab in the middle of the worst group of all out criminals.

At first his mind rejected what he was seeing. She couldn't possibly be locked in a drinking match with a seven foot tall alien whose scarred face would have sent the most stoic Vulcan fleeing from the room. But when Tom started hyperventilating next to him, Chakotay was forced to acknowledge that his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Still, this didn't account for the fact that she was _winning_.

Her opponent, much taller and better equipped to handle that much liquor, was sliding down on the wrong side of consciousness from the looks of it. His hold on his shot glass was precarious at best, clear amber liquid sloshing over the rim with every centimeter he was raising it to his lips. By the time the glass reached its destination, it was half empty. Downing what was left, he grinned broadly.

His grin was still in place as his head hit the table with a resounding thud.

Once the ensuing cheering had subsided, Kathryn stood on wobbly legs. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said cheerfully and took a bow. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you now, though. The cavalry has arrived."

A dozen heads snapped around to pin Chakotay and Tom with narrowed eyes and the tavern erupted in noise as several voices rose in loud protest. Both Starfleet officers instinctively adopted a defensive stance when the crowd began to close in on them. Ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, both subtly shifted their weight onto the balls of their feet.

They needn't have bothered.

Chakotay looked on in awe as Kathryn fearlessly grabbed the nearest patron by the lapels of his tattered shirt and pulled him level with her glaring eyes. "Hurt a hair on their heads and I'll rip out your lungs and stuff them down your throat," she said quietly in her best 'obedience or death' voice. "Then I'll become nasty."

As threats went, it was a particularly effective one as everybody scrambled to get away from the physically fragile but decidedly mad woman, including the alien still caught in her grip. There was a faint tearing sound as the lapels of his shirt ripped clear off.

Nodding in satisfaction, Kathryn dusted off her hands, then turned and staggered in the direction of her two stupefied Senior Officers. Grinning broadly, she linked her arms with both and dragged them along towards the exit. Not that they needed any encouragement. The sooner they got back to the ship, the better for their continued mental health.

"That went rather well," Kathryn said cheerfully once they were outside.

Then she threw up.

**End**


End file.
